


Flying Lessons

by ajstyling



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Mile High Club, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, khalilda, no wyverns were harmed in the writing of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajstyling/pseuds/ajstyling
Summary: Claude joins the mile high club.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	Flying Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you quorn, who supplied both the idea for this fic and several helpful edits. Thanks to cat for helpful edits and encouraging me that present tense is okay, actually (sometimes).

“You’re full of shit,” Hilda says. The wind nips gently at her exposed arms as Hilal surges through the sky. 

“People have been telling me that for years. I always prove them wrong,” Claude insists.

Hilda spins around in the saddle to face Claude, incredulity written plainly across her face. “You’re telling me that if I blow you, right now, you’ll be able to fly us home without crashing?”

Claude throws his hands behind his head and flashes her a wide grin. “I'll be thinking about Leicester trade routes the entire time. It'll be easy.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her eyes as she palms at the front of his pants, “you really are. Challenge accepted.”

Hilda deftly undoes his pants and pulls his cock free. It’s already semi-hard, and she lightly traces two fingers up and down his length. She clucks her tongue at him. “I haven’t even started yet. You’re clearly not _that_ good at thinking about trade routes.” A small whine escapes Claude’s mouth as she wraps her hand around his cock and strokes him.

“Just trying to keep things—fuck,” he hisses as Hilda lowers her mouth to the tip and gives it a gentle kiss. 

She continues to tease him, trailing her mouth down the side of his cock and pressing open-mouthed kisses along his length. He can’t quite suppress a quiet moan, and she looks up at him with a haughty grin before working her way back up the other side. When she reaches the head, she lets it slip past her lips.

Claude relaxes into the saddle, leaning back and letting his eyes wander between the sky in front of him and the girl beneath him. Eventually his eyes are drawn only to Hilda and he watches, rapt, as she moves her mouth further down his length, engulfing him effortlessly. His hands grip at the wyvern’s reins like a drowning sailor clinging to a lifeline. 

_So let me drown_ , Claude thinks to himself as he drops a hand from the reins and fists it into her locks. He holds his breath, watching the mesmerizing rhythm of her head bobbing up and down in his lap. 

The rhythm breaks momentarily as she pulls off of him. He can’t take his eyes away from the strand of spit connecting her lips to his cock. “Why did you stop?” he whines. 

Her eyes flicker from his flushed cheeks to the open sky behind. They lock eyes and she offers him a devilish grin. “I think we’re going the wrong direction.” 

“What?”

She points behind him. “Pretty sure Derdriu is that way, Mr. Leaderman.”

Claude pulls his eyes away from her and looks out into the open sky where the setting sun lingers behind them, confirming that they are, in fact, going in the wrong direction.

He only has a few seconds to feel sheepish about his lack of focus before Hilda steals his attention by licking a stripe up the underside of his cock. He stifles a groan and forces himself to concentrate on directing Hilal back toward Derdriu.

“I could fly us home with my eyes closed,” Hilda mimics Claude’s cocky tones. “I think someone may have greatly exaggerated his riding abilities.” She gives him a few playful tugs, but her mouth remains a few agonizing inches away.

“If I recall, you weren’t complaining about my riding abilities this morning.” His comeback would probably sound wittier if he weren’t thrusting needily in her palm at the same time. 

Hilda arches an eyebrow. “Bold words from someone who wants his dick sucked.”

Claude groans, a mixture of pleasure at her steady strokes and frustration at how much more he needs “Okay, okay. Rough start, but I’m focused. I’ll get us home safely. Just—uh—don’t stop. Please.”

“You’re so cute when you’re needy,” Hilda says, and she lowers her head to take him fully into her mouth. He arches out of the saddle with a moan, and she grins around his cock.

Claude forces his eyes open and attempts to recite a tried and true list of the most boring, least stimulating things he can think of. 

_Almyran battle formations. Seteth’s lectures on the saints. Lorenz’s haircut at the monastery. That book on the cultural differences between Fódlan and Almyra._

While he recites these like a prayer, Hilda sucks him with more vigor and attention to detail than she has ever put into all of her monastery chores combined.

_Cemeteries. Leicester tax code regulations. Wyverns feeding. The exact distance of every trade route in Leicester._

Derdriu appears at the edge of his vision, a welcome relief. He’s flown this route countless times, two more minutes, maybe three, and he will be clear—no danger of death by way of a wyvern crash. 

His mind is sharp. He wages war with it, plotting schemes upon schemes in his sleep. But as his heartbeat quickens and his muscles tense, he realizes that his mind is no match for Hilda. She holds her mouth against the base of his cock, her nose pressing against the short tufts of hair below his stomach and she swallows around him with ease. 

_The proper way to clean a bow. Nails scratching against a chalkboard. Assassination attempts._

Claude bites down on his lip so hard he tastes iron. Derdriu is closer now and Hilal begins her final descent. He just needs to keep her steady for a little longer. 

_Gilbert. Just think about Gilbert and his very punchable face._

His foolproof strategy pays off. After what feels like an eternity, Hilal’s feet settle on the ground, ensuring that no one needs to write a eulogy explaining how he died getting head on the back of a wyvern. 

He looks down at Hilda. “Told you I could—” His words are lost in a wanton moan as Hilda swallows around his cock. His body tenses and then bursts as he empties himself in her mouth. 

Hilda let his cock drop from her mouth, her emotions unreadable as she wipes her hand across her mouth. “Well,” she says dryly, “you got us home without crashing.”

In a daze, Claude finds himself at a loss for a proper response. 

She slides up the saddle and whispers against his lips, “A little warning would be nice next time, Khalid.” She leans forward pressing her lips against his.

The use of his real name snaps him from his stupor even quicker than the taste of himself on her lips. He catches the playful glint in her eyes and knows that his day is far from over. 

“How inconsiderate of me,” he bows low, making a grand show of remorse. “As a man of honor, I must make amends for this oversight.”

“And how, pray tell, might you go about doing that? I’m a delicate flower after all.”

“It’s simple,” Claude says, “I think we need to find out if you can fly a wyvern as well as I can.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remember folks: don't try road head on the back of a wyvern at home.
> 
> I'm [ajstyyling](https://twitter.com/ajstyyling) on twitter.


End file.
